Queer as Life
by Tigerdust
Summary: John got on the plane to London and time begins to pass. A new life forms, but Ben and Michael are never close from his thoughts. When he receives a call from Debbie, will John have the strength he needs? Ending chapters to my OC Queer series.
1. Chapter 1

John had seen Doctor Who and was acquainted with the sprawl of London. He knew there was a few places where there were rolling hills of sheep, but London was not one of those. It seems as though leaving the escalators and his couple behind had somehow given John strength. He had listened to the hollow voices announced departures from his chair and had realized that he might want to cry but that the the world had already moved on. Plenty of people would never meet them or anyone on Liberty Avenue and they went on to lead extraordinary lives. John sat there, focusing on his Grisham novel and trying not to cry.

The flight itself was uneventful. You couldn't see much of the ocean, save for the clouds. The in flight movie was Chocolat, something which barely held John's interest. The canned Sprite made his legs jittery at one point. His music helped to soothe him and the crosswords passed a bit of time. But mostly John slept, half in nervous anticipation and half in trying to shake off his sorrow.

It's always strange, those first moments off the flight when you shake the sleep from your legs and you're slightly disoriented but not really. John had never been to Heathrow before and found that he liked it. True, O Hare had the best Starbucks kiosk and Minneapolis had a monorail down its snaking corridor. But Heathrow had something about it he liked, possibly the accent.

Devon was waiting for him, as promised, with a taxi outside of baggage claim. John slung his duffel over his shoulder and walked confidently with his rolling bag. There was a blast of somewhat chilled but more pleasantly resolute air than there had been in Pittsburgh. Devon held his coat in his arm and offered John a sip of his polite fully declined latte.

"Don't need more caffeine, Devon. That soda on the plane nearly killed me."

Devon sighed. "I'm glad you decided to come. Shall we?" He motioned to the taxi and they piled belongings in the back, settling together for the ride into the heart of town.

John's head peeked at all the old, statuesque buildings mingled with such oddities as the giant ferris wheel. Devon was more than happy to play tour guide and answer some of John's questions. John was further excited by the prospect that he'd be able to explore on his own soon enough. Everything was a new and interesting distraction.

The taxi stopped in front of an apartment building. Devon motioned for John to follow with a nod of his head. "This is my flat in my building. I have quite a bit of extra room and I'd love for you to stay as long as you like. We don't really get a maid, but the fridge stays pretty stocked and I'm always busy flitting about. Probably a lifestyle you'll become accustomed to."

John chuckled. "Devon, I feel like you're trying to take care of me."

Devon turned as they waited for the elevator up. "Darling, you are a star." His hand brushed John's cheek. "You should get used to it."

John shook his head. "Careful about spoiling me. You know what happened to the last person that did that."

The elevator dinged and Devon stepped inside. "That's what I'm counting on."

"Any pet peeves you have?" The bronze doors rolled shut behind the pair and their trappings. John gazed at their reflections in the shiny doors as the elevator moved upwards.

Devon chuckled. "Don't move the pewter Dalek. I've got a remote control one if you feel the urge to play with the Doctor's arch nemesis. Other than that, don't just throw trash around and the skiff isn't far from...our place. You'll be comfortable."

The elevator dinged and John followed Devon to the flat. "Well, Lord knows I could use a bit of comfort."

Devon stopped at the door. "Oh! Before I forget."

John registered the tiny key in his hand with a blink. "You made me my own key? You knew I would come."

Devon smiled as he opened the door, revealing a comfy blue L-section couch with white and blue swirled round pillows. "Let's just say that I know artists. And I knew I'd found the right one with you."

John looked around as he followed Devon in. "Mmmm...smells like mint."

Devon nodded. "I had Heath stay over to help keep the place tidy. Your room is second on the left, next to the loo. I'm across the way. Now, I've got nothing on the schedule today so we could unpack, maybe order in a pizza if you'd like."

John shrugged as he wound his way to the guest room. "Personally, I could just do with a shower and seeing the club you'd like me to perform at. I've been way too sedentary today."

Devon smiled. "Well, that could work. There's a bistro I would think you'd love as well not far by, makes killer Indian food."

John chuckled as he unzipped his bag, shaking out a shirt. "Like I said Devon, you spoil me."

The club itself when lit reminded John of P3 in San Fransisco in many ways. There were three constructed bars, one hidden above the second dance floor that Devon explained would be his stage. He pointed to the dj box and the ladder that led down to the stage itself. The third construct was nothing more than a glorified catwalk and was closed off during performances. He noticed the trail of shimmering colors in a circular pattern on the bottom dance level.

Heath was the blond doorman, who had introduced himself as a future accounting executive to which Devon had merely laughed. He looked young and the loose curly blond hair hadn't helped much. His nose freckled across the bridge and he had permanent lines that made John think he'd been laughing far too much. He was cute as playful on the wind.

John noticed the man behind the bar as he wiped glasses to the sound of the Barber of Seville. His head bobbed and twisted with the soft sounds as though they controlled his emotion. Slight stacks of glasses all around him made his body twist in a carnival shape, lighting his almost silver hair. He was slightly older than John, possibly thirty but not much more so. He was fit without being lean and definitely looked as though he knew how to enjoy himself.

"Devon, who is that?"

"That's Ryan Pauls." Devon pointed. "Our mixing genius of a head bartender and the friendliest Irishman you'll ever know. He's got a soft spot for artistry as well. Let's go over and say hi."

The floor seemed to bottom out with John's throat. "No. Perhaps the stage instead."

Devon chuckled. "Don't let Ryan make you nervous. He's a good lad. Besides, you have to pass him to get to the stage anyways."

Ryan turned his music off and set down his last glass as John and Devon approached. Devon spoke first. "Ryan, we have hired a couple bar backs for you, if I remember correctly."

Ryan shrugged. "I know. I just like doing it myself. Besides, those lads work hard enough for me on the weekends. And who is this charming redhead you've brought into my midst?"

John chuckled nervously. "You can just call me John. I'm a performer of sorts."

Ryan's eyes lighted with recognition. "Ah. You're the bloke from across the pond, the Pittsburgh singer from youtube."

John's face turned quickly towards Devon. "I'm the what now?"

Devon coughed, pretending to get a call on his Blue tooth. "Oh, I'm sorry. I have to get this call. Ryan, would you mind showing John the booth and stage a bit?"

He scurried away to answer an actual call and Ryan burst into a peal of laughter. "He must have failed to mention a few things."

John nodded. "Well, it's all for the best I suppose. So, how long have you been tending here?"

Ryan shrugged. "I don't know. The years just seem to melt by in this place. Easiest portion of time to remember is being a lad at university, but that must have been at least four years in the past."

"Well, I'm almost done with graduate studies, so this might be perfect."

"Really then? In what subject?" Ryan asked with a genuine interest.

"Sociology and history mix. Actually, I was studying queer history with a good professor at Carnegie Mellon when Devon found me."

Ryan shook his head. "Aye. There's always those good ones when you need them. Me, I have a degree in economics but I loathe teaching it and I sure as hell don't want to wear a tie every night."

"What are you going to do when you get bored of tending?"

Ryan laughed again, causing John to smile. It was a laugh that was hard to resist. "Probably buy this place out from under Devon so he can move to New Zealand like he's been saying forever he would. But come, loads of time to get better acquainted. I'll lead you upstairs."

John thought to himself as he followed Ryan. _And I'd like to follow you there_.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm not going out like this!" Michael's voice raised a bit with tension.

Ben leaned against the closed door, Michael wanting to surprise him with the character he chose. "You thought this was a good idea too, you know."

"Well, that was before I saw myself in the mirror. I look like one of the characters from Hee Haw!"

Ben blinked, his voice calm. "It can't be that bad. I think it's almost impossible, unless the world's gone all higgledy-piggeldy."

Michael opened the door quickly, causing Ben to stand up, away from the frame of the bathroom. "This isn't a children's book, Ben."

Ben shook his head. "Sorry. It's just those cultural influence reports I have the class doing is working through my vernacular."

Michael looked into Ben's eyes. "And that's why you're going as the Professor. Well, that, and because he was the ladies man on the show."

Ben smirked. "Well, I won't deny how handsome he was and I'm sure he at least got Mary Ann, sweet and simple farm girl that she was. So loving and cheerful all the time..."

"Yeah, but if Emmett hadn't taken dibs on Ginger..." Michael shook his head, looking at himself in the mirror. His top was stuffed to create a slight bosom under his checkered shirt. The cut-off shorts were almost too short, but just forgiving enough. His prop pie was waiting by the door. It was the perfect Halloween costume for Mr. Novotny.

Ben couldn't see why he was so worried about it. Of course, Ben's costume was what he normally wore, more or less. Light blue shirt, khakis, and a prop telephone hooked up to a coconut. Who said themed parties had to be dull? Ben reached over and kissed Michael on the head.

Michael batted him away playfully. "No! Now my wig's all crooked. Shoo!"

Ben let himself be shoved out of the bathroom again. Hunter walked by, grabbing his jacket and fake bloody knife from the table. "You know, it's pretty lame that you guys are all going as a theme show. John wouldn't be able to see if you weren't dressed up."

Michael answered Hunter from the closed door. "That's not true."

Ben watched as Hunter shrugged and checked his wallet. "You sure you don't want to join us?"

Hunter shook his head. "Nah. I've been too enough of those parties. Amanda and I were gonna watch the Friday the 13th double feature at the movies and throw popcorn at the screen. Then maybe a friend's party afterward, if there's time."

"And what are you supposed to be?"

Hunter turned with his jacket open, revealing a bunch of little cereal boxes attached to his shirt. "Cereal killer."

Ben blinked. "Cute. And Amanda?"

Hunter scratched his head while he thought. "She's changed costumes twice. Last I heard she was working on a way of making herself into a giant candy floss."

Ben nodded. "You gonna be home tonight?"

"Cool if it's late?"

Ben gave a half-smile. "Just don't get too wild."

Hunter opened the door. "Thanks, I will. And Michael, you look bitchin' as Mary Ann. You know, for a gay guy!"

Ben suppressed a laugh as Hunter exited, then focused again on the closed door before him. "Hey sweetie! We should probably get going before traffic gets too crazy on the avenue!"

Across the pond, John was checking the cameras from the dj booth. Devon was downstairs, directing last minute traffic toward their stations via his walkie-talkie. John gave a thumbs up, looking from the web cams down to his two boxes under one the tables. Two costume changes in one night were going to be a bitch.

Meanwhile, Ben and Michael were fighting successfully through traffic. It was Halloween on Liberty Avenue, the time of year where the ghouls, the drag queens, and the embodiments of irony mingled without hesitation. Ben and Michael might have been the only Professor and Mary Ann, but there were quite a few overdone Carmen Mirandas and a couple of spot-on Marilyn Monroe types. Ben was hoping tonight that he might actually see Shandi Leer doing her impersonation of Katharine Hepburn. He heard it was quite good.

Babylon was already hopping as they walked down the stairs hand in hand. London feed was still about an hour away, and John had promised he would be in costume. With the time change, it couldn't be a live feed but it was almost as good. John had been fair enough to also make the disclaimer that he had two changes that night, so he would be the Skipper...just not all evening. Michael nudged Ben as he saw Emmett weaving through the crowd to get to them.

"Hey! What happened to Ginger, Em?"

Michael's eyes appraised Emmett as Lovey Howell as he answered. "Listen, I finally got Ted to agree to come as Mr. Howell, and it took a lot of convincing. This was the compromise."

"Then we're short a Ginger."

Emmett shook his head, fingers brushing some strands of wig from his forehead and back into place. "Nope. I think Justin was trying to talk Brian to coming as..."

Michael snorted. "Brian doesn't dress up for Halloween."

"No. Because it's childish and this holiday is all about getting laid in costume." Brian swung through the crowd, Justin in tow. Justin shook his head, his far large red shirt swamping out his tight body shape. Most of his blond hair hid beneath the floppy white hat while his rope from the opening credits slung casually over his shoulder.

"You couldn't have dressed up just this once?" Michael inquired.

"No." Ted strode forward, pipe and nose higher in the air than normal, hands clutching at his lapels like the aristocrat he was supposed to be. "Brian Kinney is the Ebenezer Scrooge of Halloween."

"Yeah, and if I had dressed up, I'd look as silly as you."

Justin pointed through the crowd. "I think the guy dressed as the deviled egg would have beat you out for that."

John hummed as his fingers moved against the keyboard. He released his hands as the loading icon came on the screen, his new iTunes set list loading. It was packed with all the new dance mixes and a couple of retro favorites that Devon had requested as standards. He readjusted his floating mike so that he didn't inhale it while he talked. John surveyed Devon as he roamed the dance floor, men in various costumes milling about. Americans might have been more dedicated to the holiday, but the British, it seemed, were just a bit more creative about it.

Devon's voice came over the walkie talkie. "Ready to cue, John?"

John spoke into his mike. "Just loading the first third of the play list, Dev."

Devon nodded up at the dj sky box, talking through the black device while his pirate hat tilted to the side of his head. "Alright, we'll give you right under five minutes and then I'm going to tell Joel to give you his pin spot."

John answered. "Yeah, and then an hour before the end of the first set, I do my first costume change."

Devon continued. "Right. Just like we practiced. We'll send you to Babylon via the webcams. You'll be the biggest three screens on their stage and we've got recording going for the show as the well."

"Sounds good. Let Ryan know he can bring me a screwdriver anytime he'd like."

Devon put his thumbs up. "Will do. Just checking with him now!"

"Have fun mingling."

"Have fun singing to the boys back home!"

Ben took a gulp of his glass, watching the stage lights begin to flicker. Michael pointed as the screens flickered to life, three large size shots of John beaming in from London. He smiled and waved.

"Hey Babylon! Welcome to my first ever telecast from right here in the heart of merry old London! I'll be spinning here all night, and doing a couple of live performances for you! Before we kick this off, a special hello to my friends Ben, Michael, and Emmett! Here's an old favorite for my favorite American boys! Let's party you fags!"

The rhythm began to rise as the feed flickered to videos John had picked for accompaniment. His mix included a couple of his first Halloween revamps, a test run of his latest system upgrade for his dj macbook.

Michael's head turned smugly toward Brian before Ben pulled him on the floor. "See! Even John dressed up!" If Brian responded, Michael was too wrapped up in Ben to hear.

The dance floors amped up and down all evening, Devon, John, and Ryan all doing their bits to create a lively and fun atmosphere. Men shifted in and out of the place all evening and John fought not to be embarrassed by the applause at the end of You Can't Win from the Wiz, his remix, and Sorry for Love from Celine Dion's new album. Night moved quickly into early morning and last call was readily advancing.

Ryan showed up in the box again, from the side opposite the stage. He had his own little entrance from the back of the bar and was not hesitant in using it. John smiled as he looked at the last three songs dwindling down the list. "You're trying to get me drunk, aren't you?"

Ryan chuckled. "Was it the last two tequila sunrises that did that? Cause your limit is quite high for an American."

John shrugged, taking in those desperately handsome eyes. "All I have to say is that if you continue this habit of mixing well, I just might have to date you just to take you off the market."

"Well, wouldn't that be a honor for a old man?"

John shook his head. "You are not old. Besides, wouldn't that make me..."

"Clearly in your prime."

John took a sip of the drink Ryan offered. "You're gonna get me hooked on these, you know. And then you're gonna be responsible for getting me back to the flat."

Ryan bowed. "At your service, as always."

John snickered. "Eh. You just don't wanna go back down into that madness."

Ryan peered over the edge, back into the pit of the bar, the muscles in his back visible thanks to the tight futbol jersey with coach whistle hanging from his neck. "My boys can tend to the orders just fine. So, what are you doing after the show?"

John shrugged. "Back to the flat, maybe some chinese takeaway."

"You're not celebrating?"

John watched the time on his monitors, making sure the sync was correct. "Halloween's been over for about two hours now."

Ryan shook his head. "Not that. You should have a proper toast to your new show."

"Like I said, you're trying to get me drunk. We had that party at the flat."

Ryan licked his lips as he moved behind John, whispering in his ear. "I was thinking of something slightly more intimate mate. Perhaps some wine, maybe a sunrise and some breakfast."

John whispered right back. "It is the most important meal of the day."

Perhaps it was the slight buzz he had going, but John could feel himself moving back slightly into Ryan's body. The studly Irish bartender was warm to the touch, only slightly slick with sweat. Of course, that was always how it always was at the end of a busy night. Truth was, John watched him pour and talk, slightly envious of the men that got his attention. Slowly, he found himself thinking of Ryan in some of the ways he felt for Ben. It was strange at first, but both Ben and John wanted to give themselves permission to live.

"Is it time for your last change?" Ryan backed up, a bit of gentlemanly hesitation in his step.

John nodded. "Just the shirt, though. It's the orange number. Care to hand it to me and hold my headset while I disrobe?"

Ryan took the offered device. "You sure know how to charm a lad."

"You just plied me with drinks until you got through my defenses."

Ryan shook his head, watching John's swift shirt change. "I'm glad that's all it took. You are aware that you look like a giant bottle of glitter, right?"

John reattached the set to his ear and let the microphone portion slide down his chin. "That's the idea when you do a bit of famous disco." John's demeanor changed for an instant, the nervousness rising from his feet as he tried to finish his thought. "You know, it's going to go on automatic play for this last number and I was thinking maybe I ordered too much chinese takeaway. There's quite a bit in the fridge and I would hate for it to go to waste altogether....I don't know if you..."

Ryan looked into John's eyes and John tried not to show the fear within his own. "I would be honored."

"You'd better be careful, Ryan" John headed back down the ladder onto the stage, resting on it in preparation to begin his last call number. He looked back into the sky box at Ryan, "someone might think you have a crush on me."

The lights on the stage went up underneath John's body. An amalgamation of bright squares, each a spot of intense colored light that made him shine and fall deep into his diva character. John had once remarked to Ben that he felt like he was doing a drag show without the drag. Ben had shrugged and said that maybe he was just that good.

Of course, there were some things John couldn't do. So, when the opening strains of Last Dance begin to play but you can't hit the high note, there are just some things that you can only get from iTunes.

_Last dance_

_Last chance for love_

_Last chance for romance tonight_

John was splayed across the ladder, reclined and provocative. He looked out into the buzzed, dancing audience and they looked back at him with eyes of admiration. All John could think about was the man in the dj booth as he pushed away from the ladder and swaggered to the front of the stage, lights beaming up from underneath.

_I need you, beside me_

_To guide me, to chide me_

His arms encompassed the energy of the room as they swung out wide, then coming back in to caress his own chest and slide down his legs.

_To hold me, to scold me_

_Cause when I'm bad_

_I'm so bad, bad, bad, bad, bad_

John sighed, letting his head tilt up and then looking directly toward the audience. "Are you ready to dance? This is your last chance! Happy Halloween my new friends and you have a safe night. This has been your DJ, tripping the lights fantastic!"

_So let's dance that last dance_

_Let's dance that last dance_

_Let's dance that last dance_

_Tonight_

Ben and Michael watched John as they danced with each other. They could see the improvement in his act and confidence. He was turning into a real performer, more than just raw talent. Michael remembered that John had said once he had thought about doing drag, but realized that he liked his goatee far too much. Ben had just remarked that maybe he was just a bear waiting to happen. John had just shrugged at that, but he he could see the value in it now.

The songs John had selected had made Ben and Michael frisky, more than anything. With Hunter gone for the night, a semi-rare treat, Ben had plans. He wanted to hear Michael like it had been before, not that he wasn't fond of Hunter. Michael was just surprisingly old-fashioned about some things. A small part of Ben was also feeling mischievous. Michael mocked surprise when the Professor lifted Mary Ann over his shoulders and took him back to his bed.

_I need you, by me _

_Beside me, to guide me_

"Your last song was fantastic."

John looked down as the elevator ascended back to the flat. They were all alone in the bronzed lift. John couldn't tell if Ryan knew he was blushing. "Thanks. That song says a lot about my philosophy on my new life."

"I can't imagine what your old life must have been like."

John chuckled. "I can almost say that I wouldn't want someone to have gone through it, but it makes me appreciate what I have all the more."

Ryan nodded. "Aye. Tough times do that. But if you ever need..."

The elevator bell dinged as the door opened onto the floor of Devon's flat.

_To hold me, to scold me_

_Cause when I'm bad_

_I'm oh so bad_

The lights were dim in the flat, meaning Devon wasn't back yet. John shut the door behind him and there was Ryan, standing in the shadows and waiting. John's immediate reaction was to head towards the kitchen. He reached for the lights, but just stood there with his hands on them. He felt Ryan's warm hand over his own.

"Maybe takeaway isn't what we're hungry for."

John exhaled, containing a shiver. "I'm a pretty good cook. Is there something you want?"

Ryan's body pushed John against a wall, one hand still over his own. "Lad, you know what I want. You wouldn't have invited me up otherwise."

Ryan initiated the kiss as he knew that he would have to.

_So let's dance that last dance_

_Tonight_


	3. Chapter 3

The music was going as it always was in Devon's flat during parties. It was simple enough to borrow one of John's extensively researched iDevices and just plug it into the Bose outlet. The room could come alive at anytime and it beckoned most of the flats in the building toward Devon and John's home.

John walked into the party with Ryan. They were still both dressed in stunningly fancy outfits, but not ordinary tuxedos. John never seemed to do anything ordinary and Ryan was just too handsome to look ordinary.

Devon surfed through the crowd to get to them, John's hands already in the sour cream chip bowl and half full. "How was the affair?"

John nearly choked on his chip. "Excuse me?"

Ryan squeezed the back of John's elbow discretely. "I think he means the party. It was pretty, that's for sure."

John snorted. "That's an understatement, unless you mean pretty dull. I swear, for gay people in high places, they sure seem to lose a lot of flair."

Devon smiled, shaking his head. "All the better for us, I suppose."

John giggled, noting the Ryan was still close behind him and reaching around for his own chip. "I think it helped that they thought we were gutter trash."

Ryan bore up, mock defensively. "Hey! I'll have you know I won those state ambassador tickets fair and square."

Devon chuckled. "I'm sure they were all wishing you hadn't."

John nodded. "Except for the French ambassador's mistress. She must have thought I was a hoot."

Ryan yawned. "As well she should have. You were dazzling."

John rolled his eyes. "You're just saying that." He turned, thumb grazing Ryan's cheek in an effort to get a spot of dip from it. The thumb was then briefly inserted against John's lips and he sucked away the smudge. Devon made no mention of it.

Ryan purred. "You should be a little more discreet about who you lick toppings from, John."

John's eyes twinkled. "I thought that was one of the perks of being gay."

Ryan shrugged. "Well fitted outfits and the West End, notwithstanding."

Devon spoke again. "Oh! That reminds me. You've almost missed the fireworks, and that would be a shame at New Years."

Ryan brushed his hands together. "Yes, well, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I must borrow the facilities."

John and Devon watched Ryan walk away and then headed towards the bay windows while John greeted friends and co-workers. They reached the open balcony, which matched the heat of the conversation room with its night chill.

John spoke first as they gazed into the almost midnight of the New Year. "Whom do you suppose Ryan was referring to when he said gentlemen?"

Devon chuckled, turning away from the sky to lean on the twisted metal railing. "He does seem rather fond of you."

John let his arms hang over the railing, clasping them together. "I hadn't noticed."

Devon exhaled warm air in a cloud. "Really? It used to be so difficult to get him to go out, let alone to go to an ambassador's ball with winnings from a radio contest. Now he seems to go quite a few places."

John stared out into the inky night as various buildings winked with light. "I can't imagine him being that anti-social. Perhaps he just feels younger than he used to."

Devon nodded. "You've done that change in him then."

John shook his head. "You're seeing things, Devon. No, we're..."

Devon whispered. "You don't have to lie to protect me."

"You're pretty grown up though."

Their eyes met on the balcony. "I am, at that. Perhaps then that's why I don't prefer being lied to."

John gave a half smile. "I'm sorry, Devon. We just wanted to be discreet and I didn't..."

"Want to hurt me?"

John sighed, looking down. "Among other things. I didn't want to jeopardize our friendship."

"Funny that. All those weekdays spent with the pizza and reruns of the Weakest Link on the tele and you never mentioned once..."

John shrugged. "There wasn't anything to mention before Halloween."

Devon looked toward the balcony above. "That explains the holiday in Germany."

"Yeah. That and it being the place where my dad was stationed for a short while. He said he loved it and I wanted to see the place. I certainly wasn't going to Austria yet. Not without you. I know your fondness for the Sound of Music." John punched playfully in Devon's arm, causing the owner of the club to smile. "Hey, who else do you think I would go with to pirouette in that field?"

Devon's voice wavered. "I'm happy for you."

"Liar."

Devon gave a half smile. "Well, say it enough and it may become true. Were you going to stay here with me much longer then?"

"I think it's a bit sudden to change rooming arrangements, Dev. I don't want to rush. Not after everything. But at least now you know and I would ask that you maybe keep it to yourself for a little while longer. You know how the men love the gossip."

Devon nodded. "I would say no to anyone else."

John nudged Devon, elbow to elbow. "I appreciate that."

Devon's eyes lit up. "Well, now that we have that out of the way, tell me if the rumors of the Irish stallion are true."

John chuckled. "You are incorrigible."

Ryan entered the balcony, sliding up next to John. "Who is being incorrigible, then?"

John shook his head. "Devon as always."

"Waiting for the fireworks, then."

Devon turned back towards the sky. "The ones in the sky at least."

Ryan looked from John to Devon, thought of a comment and then abruptly let it float away on the air. In the unsure silence, John felt his fingers crawl over the railing and settle on Ryan's arm. Ryan looked again from John to Devon and Devon looked away for just a moment, pretending to check his habitually ringing phone.

John interrupted the almost uneasy silence. "Club burn down to the ground, yet?"

"No, no. Heath is taking care of everything, I'm sure. If not, he'll rue the day he volunteered to work New Years as the emcee."

Ryan coughed in the cold air. "Look!"

The colors were exploding in the sky across the harbor and John felt like a kid again. He was excited, brushing against Ryan as each explosion cascaded across the sky, twinkling shades of amber and violet and green. Someone found that old tune that always rang in the New Year and somewhere, people where chanting their countdown in excited reverie. It was indeed a new year.

The exploding colors played off of Ryan's eyes as John turned. Their hands were entwined now and Ryan's eyes moved up slowly from the grasp. John gulped, aware that his knees were not as strong as he seemed to recall.

"Oh, go on then. I already know."

"You told," Ryan whispered, half to himself and half to John.

"He figured it out. Not much use in hiding things around here."

Ryan smiled warmly. "There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I know."

Ryan leaned down a bit and John stepped into the kiss. The colors flitted past their skins as John felt himself caught in Ryan's embrace. Ryan's kiss was tinged with smoke and mint. John responded with deep chocolate and cream dancing across his tongue. They broke apart and Devon excused himself.

"I think I'm falling for you." Ryan stated in some form of lustful after.

John gulped. He felt things for Ryan. Things that had slowly begun taking Ben's place. When he was with or even by Ryan, the loneliness wasn't so vast. He didn't know if that was love, wasn't sure how to respond. "I...."

"Don't force yourself to say it." There was clear hurt playing across Ryan's face.

John reached for Ryan's hand that rested on the railing. "No, I feel something for you, but the last person that I loved....I don't want to hurt you."

"I don't think you could do a better job than now."

Ryan couldn't leave, as hard as he pulled away. John wouldn't let go of his hand. "Stay with me." His eyes pleaded it.

"I'd rather not tonight, if that's okay with you lad."

John nearly burst into tears. "I'm wearing that cologne you gave me."

Ryan nodded. "Smells proper on you, just as I knew it would."

John let go of his hand, moving around the balcony. "And you knew me enough to know what I wanted to smell like, the person I wanted...ne...to attract. You like the scent."

"I love the person I bought the scent for."

John walked over to Ryan's arms as they quivered gently. He wanted to fall into Ryan's body, rip away the layers of his own pain and the clothing of the other man. "The person who received it loves the scent and all behind it."

Ryan purred softly. "Come to my bed."

John pressed himself into Ryan, looking into the misty eyes. "I think mine's closer."


	4. Chapter 4

Ryan's eyes were shut. John couldn't tell if he was asleep or not as Ryan seldom snored. And if he did, John was in such a deep sleep that he rarely heard it himself. John tried not to stare to long, aware that the draping blanket over the pair was not really keeping the room warm. In fact, it felt chilly this near the end of February. Plus, he didn't want to be doing the creepy look thing he had been accused of a lifetime ago.

John reached over the lamp without turning it on. He scrambled with his fingers, finally reaching his glasses. He shook himself momentarily out of sleep, acutely aware that he needed to feed one of his less savory addictions. So it was with slight remorse that he found himself fumbling as quietly as he could with the wrappers and popping the chocolate covered cherry into his mouth.

"Isn't it a touch early for that, love?"

John chewed for a couple of seconds, finally turning back as he swallowed. "So says the man that loves an occasional 3 am brandy."

Ryan gave a half smile as his hand touched John's back, John feeling every coarse line in shivers. "If memory serves, we both benefit from that."

John turned fully, snuggling in under the blankets. "Yes, well, this one is slightly more difficult to share. It just gives me a tummy."

Ryan shook his head. "We've talked about this."

John chuckled, yawning a little. One hand propped his head out from the pillow and the other lighted on Ryan's abs, just above his drawstring pajama bottoms. "As it stands, I am okay with my weight. I just wish it were a little more evenly distributed."

"You're fine, love."

"You see me through rose-colored glasses."

Ryan reached over and scooped John's glasses from his face, placing them on the opposite night stand. "No, I see you."

John allowed himself to fall back onto his pillow, one hand still resting on Ryan's midsection. "And what is it you see exactly?"

Ryan rolled his devilishly handsome eyes. "Oh, it's a game you're wanting. I'll tell you, but then I except the same."

John purred, leaning over to kiss Ryan. "I was always happy to reciprocate."

"Yes, well, before I lose my train of thought completely....you remind me of a star of the old days, when they made motion pictures worth watching. When you sing, I see Vera Ellen doing tap and Barbra Stanwyck simply entering a room."

"I know I'm gay, but am I that girly?"

Ryan reached over and tickled one of John's ribs, causing the younger of the pair to squirm. The squirming caused John to kick the covers partially away, but then pull them back quickly considering his state of near undress. His pinstripe trousers hung over a nearby chair, pealed away in a passionate moment. "Not gonna let me finish then?"

"Not if you continue to tickle me like that. Remember, I have a weapon to you know. Well, that is to say, my pillow."

Ryan's grin turned wicked. "I can think of a few other of your weapons."

John blushed as Ryan's thumb grazed his lips. "Now, that's just not fair. You know I can't concentrate when you do that."

"Why not?"

John used his cheek to caress Ryan's still outstretched hands. He took the thumb into his mouth and began to bite gently. Ryan groaned at the use of tongue and John tasting his skin. John loved the taste of Ryan anytime. "It's not as thought it'll lead to anything else."

"Oh no?" Ryan shot up in a flash, and found himself towering over John with the cover thrown off, exposing his bare back and teasing shots of his hard-on in his pajama bottoms.

"Get off me, cheeky bastard!" But John made no attempt to fight back.

"I thought you liked having me on top?"

"Maybe." John's hand roamed Ryan's sculpted body. His natural Irish tan exposed every healed cut and bruise as though they were natural tattoos. John knew the lines and the curves and he thought it made Ryan even more perfect. "But I have always liked older men."

Ryan's own hand found its way toward his crotch and then inside his own pajama bottom. "What's that, then? I'll show you what an older man is good for."

Ryan brought the fabric of his bottoms down over his hard shaft, his cock popping out and ready for action. The head was the same dusty shade as the rest of his body, but he thankfully did not shave and John's opinion of his masculinity used the word hot in various phrases. He was easily able to pound an eight and a half inches from the hard fleshy steel of Ryan Jr. and John enjoyed every moment of tasting him.

He was already leaking a bit of pre-cum from his foreskin and John wasted no time in hearing the groan of when tongue met foreskin. John knew the smoky taste that surrounded Ryan and he loved it. John let Ryan work his cock in John's mouth, sliding gently and quickly as the tide of his lust fed it. He moved with hunger against the shaft, all the way down to the sac where it met.

Ryan was enjoying the attention this early in the morning and John had to force himself back a little when he felt Ryan's abs tighten. It didn't take long however before they were too entwined in lust to not give in. The first spasm was the most intense and satisfying as Ryan came in jerks against John's skin. John massaged Ryan's hard-on, rolling the skin seductively as he came down from the high before Ryan rolled back to his pillow.

John smiled as he fumbled for a couple of tissues and cleaned off his chest. "See? Now that's why I like older men."

"You make me sound like a grandda, though." Ryan lay back on his pillow as John snuggled in.

"Don't mean to." John purred a bit himself, as though the sexual intensity had been shared by both bodies. "I think you're the perfect age."

"You'll spoil a man with complements like that." Ryan draped his arm around John, pulling him in protectively to give a kiss to his forehead.

John only moved after about three minutes, when he heard the mail slide under the door. "Guess Devon must be up. Shall we see about breakfast?"

Ryan shrugged. "I'd just as well stay in."

John reached past Ryan for his glasses. "Be that as it may, I've kind of a got a hankering for a ham and egg fry-up. Devon!"

The feet of Devon's shadow came back under the door, followed by a hesitant knock. A shaft of light that accompanied his entrance into the room made Ryan wince a bit and John blink. John spoke, Ryan's arm still around his frame. "Good morning, Dev. Out jogging again? Your dedication is admirable."

Devon picked up the mail. His grey sweats were as flattering as sweats could be, the ear buds from his iPod still hanging down off the top of the shirt. John had a little Flashdance thought, but dismissed it momentarily. "Not really dedication so much. It's already half after seven."

John looked over at the alarm clock, squinting at the object he tried to not pay attention to. "Really? We're the lazy ones in this house, apparently."

Ryan smiled smugly. "Imagine that."

John reached for the mail gratefully. "How about some breakfast after your jog then?"

Devon shook his head. "Already had some oatmeal."

Ryan flipped through the letters, handing one to John. John slid a finger under the envelope, breaking the adhesive seal. "I was thinking more of poached eggs and toast. My stomach's vetoed the fry-up."

Devon nodded, sitting down in a nearby chair with pinstripe trousers slung over the back. "Stomach's a bit more awake than the rest?"

John yawned as he began flipping through the contents of the envelope. He smiled, handing the pictures to Ryan when his phone rang. John's eyes rolled. "Oh bollocks! Who could be calling me at this hour?"

Ryan flipped a picture around so that Devon could see. "This one of you is pretty good."

Devon leaned forward. "When was that one taken? I thought this was the last roll from Germany."

Ryan nodded as John sat in conversation on the other end of the bed. "He's a sneaky bastard. I was wondering what was left on the Snapfish roll that he sent through the website."

John finished his conversation with the caller and let his phone drop to the floor. His face was pale, dropping three shades from normal. The world was tilting out beneath him and he was amazed later that he even had enough wits about him to stand. He turned, looking beyond Devon and Ryan.

Ryan slid over to the end of the bed and grabbed out for John's arm. He gulped, never knowing John to be silent. "What's wrong, love?"

John didn't speak, barely registering the touch. He looked down at the arm and then back into the blank space where the room had been just a few moments ago. Somewhere, his brain kicked in and knew what he needed to do.

"I need my travel case." John's voice was calm, a tinge of hysterical tears inside of it.

Devon walked around to the other side of John. "Where do you need to go?"

John knelt under the bed, bringing up two duffel bags. He opened them, rummaging through to make sure they were clean and debris free. He slid from Ryan's grasp and walked around the room, beginning with the pinstripe trousers. John found they buttoned up his lower half quite nicely.

Ryan ejected himself from the bed as John moved toward the bureau. He began to rummage through the shirts on the second row, finding a long sleeve green shirt that reminded him of a flannel top. He mumbled to himself about being warm on the plane.

Ryan turned John to face him, grabbing both of John's hands within his own. The room seemed to have brought down some of John's body temperature as well. "Hey! Talk to me."

John shook his head. "I have to go."

Ryan's voice nearly shouted with concern. "Go where? Who was that call from?"

John sniffed, turning away from Ryan and back to the drawers, deciding what socks were best. Devon stood at the other end of the room. "It was Michael or Debbie, wasn't it?"

John stopped rummaging and nodded, slowly.

Devon continued. "Are you coming back?"

John sighed. "It's hard to say."

Ryan restrained his anger under confusion. "Would someone please tell me what is going on?"

Devon had to speak for John. John wasn't sure he would be able to voice another syllable before he collapsed into tears. Devon ran his palm across his brow. "Am I right?"

John began to pull out clothes to pack. "Yes."

"Then you'll have to say it sooner or later. Avoiding the words won't change what has happened."

Ryan's eyes flitted between Devon and John before Devon spoke solemnly, followed by a hasty exit from the room as John collapsed into Ryan's arms. "Ben Bruckner is dead."


	5. Chapter 5

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"

John's head was stooped down inside his own chest in the passengers seat. "Funerals are always awkward for the plus one guest. It would be best for you to stay."

Ryan spoke softly. "But you are hurting."

John thought a moment, looking out the window but seeing nothing. "Yes, well, that would be one way of looking at it."

"Let me be there for you. I..."

John waved his hand from the passenger seat. "No, please. Not that word, not right now."

Ryan made a turn-off for the airport. "Is it true what you told Devon?"

John spoke absentmindedly. "We can never know what the future holds. Hope is just the dream of fools."

Ryan was holding back his own tears. "I want to go with you."

John shook his head. "No."

Ryan gasped as though he had been shot with a poison arrow. The drive was silent for the rest of the way. Heathrow was slightly busy that day as well. People in business suits flitted around with their leather briefcases. Ryan and John stopped near the pay phones, the security gate just beyond them.

Ryan flipped through all of John's documents to make sure they were in order. "Well, it's all here then. You've got the gate number?" John nodded, gaze focused somewhere below Ryan's chin. "And you'll be sure to call when you get in?" Once again, John's responses became regulated to nods and head shakes.

Ryan listened to the sound of boarding numbers being called and hoped for a moment that John would change his mind. His laptop was packed, along with most of his wardrobe. A more stout person might even have suggested that coming back wasn't an option. But Ryan knew he wasn't that strong.

John spoke meekly. "I guess I should go now."

Ryan nodded, cupping John's chin with his hand so their eyes could meet. "Whatever happens, I'll wait for you. Remember that."

John nodded without response. He picked up his bag and turned away from Ryan, whose hands was over his mouth to keep from showing he was biting down on his tongue. He wanted to focus on pain over sorrow. And tears here would never do.

John turned back once and saw Ryan walking away slowly. He knew the movies, knew what he felt and should do. There was a part of him that wanted to, well, he wasn't sure. He just knew that he couldn't leave Ryan like this. Someone in this tragedy should have hope.

"Ryan!" John shouted as he dropped his bag. He ran back towards the Irishman who loved him and he kissed Ryan hard. It wasn't a goodbye kiss, but neither was it a forever kiss. "I love you."

Later, as the plane touched the ground and John moved toward baggage claim, he would not be able to recount the hours between the phone call and that groggy movement of his legs. He watched the people move around him quickly, scurrying. John felt like the volume had been turned down, exterminated in a way. He was numb and ethereal. This was the tragedy.

_Live in my house_

_I'll be your shelter_

_Just pay me back with one thousand kisses_

Rent was on his iDevice playing randomly in the taxi. He sat in silence as the Hindi driver tried to goad him into revealing whether he was Christian or not. It seemed to John that the majority of American taxi drivers were always trying to convert him again.

_Be my lover and I'll cover you_

_Open your door and I'll be your tenant_

_Don't much baggage to lay at your feet_

The sky was bleak and the terrain was barren. John had forgotten about Midwestern winters. The depression settled easily over his heart like a feral cat coming home to roost. Its claws dug deep into the silent beats of the whispering organ.

_But sweet kiss _

_I've got to spare _

_I'll be there and I'll cover you_

He forced himself to believe that it could be a lie as they began to pull toward the cemetery drive. He had a hard, strange strain of hope mingled with denial. Ben was always supposed to survive. Love would find the cure. Being out his way and letting him have his life with Michael was supposed to be the cure. It was more than just borrowed time. John's mind desperately tried to cling to its own sanity.

_I think they meant it when they said that you can't buy love_

_But I know you can rent it _

_A new lease you are my love _

_One life_

_Be my life_

He bolted as the cab stopped, not really caring about the bag slung over his shoulder or his clothes in the trunk. Everything seemed like an extra expenditure that weighed him down from the important things. It was all a blur, a mass of pain. The cab driver's voice fell against deaf wind. John wasn't sure where he was going, hadn't even stopped to consult a directory until he was out of breath.

_I've longed to discover_

_Something as true as this is_

_So, with a thousand sweet kisses_

_When you're lost and your lonely_

But there was his grave, his name etched into deep white marble. John cringed and shuddered beneath a nasty and invisible wind. He didn't mind that Ben was buried, he would have never been able to sit through a funeral. There were so many things he wanted, needed to say. None of them were as angry or as melodramatic as John had envisioned this scene to be.

_A thousand sweet kisses_

_You've got one nickel only_

_With a thousand sweet kisses_

_When you're worn out and tired_

At some point, John fell to his knees in the snow in front of the headstone. He had cried, would probably continue to cry for a very long time. There was no amount of polite condolences that would ebb this pain. This pain may never be ebbed. John found himself reaching out to the headstone and grasping it in a wrenching hug. He held onto the only part of Ben left on the earth.

_With a thousand sweet kisses_

_When your heart has expired_

_Oh, lover, I'll cover you_

He didn't hear the footsteps at first. They were heavy, squishing in the snow. They stopped behind John, but John couldn't be fooled or bothered to care.

"Hey."

John turned, still grasping the stone. Michael stood, hands thrust into the pockets of his black coat, wearing one of the scarves that Ben had given him.

"Michael." John couldn't tell you when he stood or turned to Michael. He couldn't tell you the moment when they were embracing or the moment when Michael started crying as well. All he could say later was that Michael's car was waiting and his bags had already been transferred. Michael had known that John would be on the next flight out.

_525, 600 minutes_

_525, 000 seasons of love_


	6. Chapter 6

It was a small thing at first, an off-hand comment by Emmett on the first night he had successfully dragged Michael back. Of course, Em had a point that Michael would drive himself crazy staring at the same walls, forgetting that there was a community surrounding him and that Ben's life could continue through him. Michael wasn't really paying attention to the music or the drink in his hand, condensation dripping down onto the floor. He was remembering that night after they had found out the name of that poor kid from the dumpster. It was the same gut-wrenching feeling on a much larger magnitude.

"Come on, honey. Dance with me."

Michael shook his head at Emmett. "I don't think so, Em. This was a great experiment, but it's turning into a disaster."

"I thought you liked this song?"

Michael nodded. "Yeah, the original. Careless Whisper is not something that should have a techno beat. Besides its....I don't know..."

Emmett leaned into a bar. "It's not just the song, is it?"

Michael shook his head. "Nah. And I don't think it ever will be again. I feel like I was shot in the dark by an unknown gunman."

Emmett nodded in solidarity. "I know. But you've got me and Hunter. John came back from...."

Michael grabbed onto his arm. "Wait a minute. You don't suppose that's why this song seems so familiar?"

Em shrugged. "Could be. It would explain why we haven't seen him since he got in from the airport. But this doesn't seem his style; its too acidic."

"Yeah. Not since I drove him from the Diner to the corporate suites he booked for himself."

Emmett's face fell a bit. "I didn't want to take the invitations personally that he turned down, but I guess I can understand all those memories. Maybe he just needs some space."

Michael sighed. "It's possible. But I think I'll pay him a visit tomorrow. I have something of his I'd like to give back."

"That'll remind him of Ben."

Michael nodded. "If he's anything like me, everything will remind him of Ben."

There was no answer as Michael shifted the cargo around in his arms and knocked on the nondescript door. The air wasn't quite freezing, but Michael still jogged a bit while he stood because it wasn't quite spring although mid-march was rapidly approaching and spring would be springing any day now.

After pounding a second time, he listened closely at the door and found that he could hear something happening inside. _John can ignore me all he wants_, Michael thinks, _but I'm just gonna have to keep knocking_. On the third knock, Michael shifted what was in his arms for a second time. He then bit on his lip as he tried the doorknob and it turned successfully. Apparently, John had terse feelings regarding his own present security.

The sight after only about a week was a disaster. The walls were a stark oatmeal-colored contrast in regards to the living room scene. One roasted chicken carcass still lay decimated on the counter and fossilizing. A small stonehenge of baby carrots and prescription sleeping pills lay scattered about the large coffee table. Underneath was a small forest of Rolling Rock long necks, pale green shining through the harsh fluorescents that lit the place.

John was extended over the couch, the only piece of furniture in the place that Michael could tell. His laptop was plugged in among the chaos on the coffee table and giant nose-drowning earphones covered quite a bit of his face. His head was tilted backwards over one arm and he was snoring. One of John's arms was slung down over the same arm of the couch, bottle of Captain Morgans gripped in the fingers. The bottle was three fourths empty.

Michael bit down on his lip while trying to form his first sentence. He walked through the forest of beer bottles and shook John's shoulder gently. His eyes, disoriented and slightly dilated, wigged out and he tried to pop up from the couch quickly. The headphones kept him from getting to far and he threw them in anger while trying to sit up on his couch.

"Jesus, Michael! Scare a guy a little more, why don't you?"

Michael pointed toward the door. "I tried to knock. You're really leaving yourself opened to being robbed here."

John shrugged, yawning. "It's just stuff."

"Well, we wouldn't even know if you were robbed considering how little we see of you."

"We?"

Michael blinked, color rising in his cheeks. "Your gang on Liberty Avenue. The pills and booze haven't erased us yet, have they?"

John made a scoffing sound in the back of his throat. "Don't talk about things you don't understand. I'm still working, even though I'm here."

"Yeah, well, you can work in London. Why did you come back if you didn't want to see us?"

John blinked, letting his own anger burn for a second. "Well, it's amazing how quickly they all got you out of house, didn't they?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Something flashed in John's eyes. "You had the fucking perfect life and now you're gonna stand here and tell me in less than a week that you're not mourning anymore, able to move freely about the city without seeing him everywhere."

"Hey! Wait a minute! You think I'll ever be over him? You think I don't wake up at night crying?"

John coughed. "I don't give a damn what you think, before you start that oration." His voice was harsh from all the booze and the grogginess of sleep. "But you didn't come here for a fight and it's too early for me to think of a cohesive argument. I can't think you've come to save me, that was always Ben's schtick."

Michael shook his head, inhaling through his nose. "We heard your song last night at Babylon and it got Emmett thinking about how little we'd seen of you. I thought that maybe you might want something to remember Ben by."

A hardness rose in John's face as he froze, frosted mirror extended in his hand. "I don't want that. You keep it."

"You gave it to him right before you left!"

John snarled. "I have enough of Ben to remember. You need to go."

Michael shook his head. "I can't, not like this."

"I'll call the police."

Michael's voice calmed a little. "Go ahead and do that."

John blinked. "You don't think I will?"

"No."

John sighed. "Just fucking leave me alone, Michael."

"Not if you're gonna try and destroy yourself."

John rose, angry. "Destroy myself? What? Are you gonna tell me that you care about me now? How much do you know about what you and Ben put me through? I could be happy! Hell, I coulda been the next Senator or counselor of Eagle House! I shouldn't have had his interference then and I sure as hell don't want you here now!"

"I get that you're angry. I'm angry too. But destroying yourself won't bring him back and won't get you any closer to where he is now."

John sat back down. "Yeah? We'll see." With that, John struggled with the cord to his noise cancelers and ignored Michael.

Michael left soon after, leaving the frosted character mirror up against the wall of the living room. It stared at John, a painful reminder of his loss. He hated Michael and hated that picture. He finally leapt across the room and picked it up. One free fist flew out at the picture and shards danced everywhere. He was bleeding, not profusely, but enough to know he was. The pain shocked his nervous system and John backed away, seeing himself in the shards of the greatest gift he'd ever bought Ben. It was enough to cause him to leave the apartment.


	7. Chapter 7

Walking half sober to John was the same as walking while nearly asleep. The shapes felt too general, the bodies looked far too familiar and yet so distant. There was a dim, hard hope that someone would recognize him boiling around in that brain of his. And a distant thankful sigh when no one did.

It felt so familiar, the lonely walking. Ryan was good about understanding the faraway glance in John's eyes when they just walked together, sometimes holding hands. John missed the chance sometimes to walk by himself. Ryan never smothered him, but there were even some things that John couldn't understand. A chill went down his spine when he realized that this was not a part of his world that Ryan could touch, even if he called and asked him to come. This was a part of his life that he had to deal with on his own.

To say the very least, John did not feel prepared to deal with it. The idea of it as a whole made John feel small, a very nervous and frightened kind of small. Spring thaw was setting in late and yet John continued to bundle in tight to himself as he sobered. His feet did the main job of carrying him. He was far too alone in his own head and in the fresh air. Everywhere he looked, he saw Ben or a memory, a few fake ones he had even made to fuel his grief. John knew he wasn't being incredibly healthy. The trouble was that John wasn't even sure he cared anymore.

A small part of him knew where he was going. It wasn't Michael's apartment or the comic book shop. He wouldn't be able to face the Diner or the stage at the moment. Those were shared experiences and he felt far too lonely. No, when the feet finally stopped moving, John found himself staring up. He felt old, the place cold and distant. Ben's light was still on, his blinds half open.

It was that place that could have made the tears begin again. Well, that is if he hadn't dehydrated himself over the past few days. John sniffled, tracks of invisible tears lining his pale cheeks. It seemed wrong somehow, it all just seemed wrong. How long ago had it been when he had just been in that office, leaning back in a chair and reading while pecking at a tuna fish sandwich every now and then, listening to Ben talk excitedly about a tea that was coming in special order?

John had to keep moving eventually. He couldn't risk drawing attention to himself. True, it was a big campus and true, there were many people walking by. But John knew he attracted natural attention and that there were many people on this campus who knew him by proxy. The great saga of John's first adult years. It sounded like a novel in motion.

There were only two quiet places on the entire campus where still sitting and glazed looks would be acceptable enough to pass through. One was the upper floor of the library, but John had a feeling that he would kill Anthony if the kid were working today. Anyone connected negatively to Ben was not worth dying for, he knew that inside, but the rage and sorrow that boiled over onto his skin could never be contained. The way Ben had been lulled and ambushed made John clench his fists. It had only been Ben's intervention the one time that had stopped it from occurring. And Ben couldn't stop it now.

The other option was the chapel. No, not the big Catholic monument just off campus that most of the Christian folks haunted. This place was different. It was more of an off-shoot of the diversity buildings where the social justice communities were housed. John remembered how Ben had reacted about every project he had done with them, as though he were proud of John for merely attempting something. All the time and resources expended on making Ben proud. John knew he had to sit soon or his knees would collapse from all the thinking.

The little house chapel was beyond the grove of buildings that sloped near one of the sides of the campus. It was tucked away, off the radar of the official maps. They had all abandoned the places to the freaks and hippies. People like John that needed real acknowledgment and real community. They had hired her as an afterthought and John had met the female preacher a few times. She was nice enough and blessedly out of the chapel when he got there.

It was partly the jet lag still, partially the hangover, and mostly the emotion of everything he had been cramming into his soul and trying to drown with booze. It was a fear that he felt crawling over his skin again. It was the tears that wouldn't come. John wasn't sure he would remember how. But in this small place, a slicing crack of stained glass lighting the candles playfully, John folded his hands for the first time in who knows how long.

They squeezed together until the knuckles were white. His skin still smelled like the bottle, his hair greasy. But John found himself awash in the painful emotions of his dead spirit. He felt dead without Ben. He knew his body survived, but the rest of him placed blame squarely on his own shoulders. All the ifs came back: the ones about Ryan and England, about his birthday, about Priest. He felt like curling up on the hard wooden pew and waiting for death.

His head turned when Vivian entered the building. It had been a long time, or perhaps the wind was just stronger today than he had initially thought. She looked just a hint older and a hint colder than himself.

"I didn't mean to interrupt." She called from the back of the room.

John shook his head. "It's a public building."

Vivian walked up the small aisle, sitting in the row ahead and watching the candles flicker for a moment. "I'm surprised to see you. I thought you were still in London."

John narrowed his gaze. "How did you know about that?"

Vivian turned in her seat, brown bangs sweeping across her brow. She pushed them back with her clean and polished nails. "After you left, Professor Bruckner began joining us for different events. He claimed you had got him interested and he thought I'd like to keep tabs."

John smiled half-heartedly. "Sounds like him."

Vivian let her eyes cast down. "I'm sorry." Her arm came across the pew and gripped John's shoulder.

John felt his hand cross over hers and squeeze. In older days, he would have embraced her, perhaps cried in her arms a little and felt much better. "Me too."

"I wish you could have come back with happier circumstances."

"You and I both."

"How long are you staying?" Vivian's eyes were filled with concern.

John sighed. "I don't really have any plans at the moment."

Vivian turned back to face the front. "You know, I think about what's happened and I worry. I worry about him and you and myself and the future."

John responded wryly in rote. "God clothes the sparrows. So why should you worry about food or shelter?"

Vivian shook her head. "That's not what I mean, and you know it."

John suddenly found his fingernails very interesting. "I try not to think about it. Good is too morally relative to matter in terms of heaven."

"What about happiness?"

"Of who, Viv? The people he's left behind or those who were waiting for him like Vic?"

Vivian waited a moment to respond. "Are you more bitter or afraid?"

John chuckled, causing Viv to turn and look into his red eyes. "Neither. I've pushed it so far down that I'm not sure I'll ever really be able to think about it."

"How are you going to grieve?"

John shook his head, avoiding her concerned gaze. "I don't think that far ahead. I can barely keep up with my own performance dates."

"Do you think this is what Ben would want for you?"

"That doesn't matter anymore."

"I think it matters a great deal."

John stopped a moment. "Have you been talking to Michael?"

Vivian nodded. "We've met a couple of times to discuss things."

"Huh. Vivian, if you don't mind..."

She nodded, getting up. "I understand. But think about how many people's lives Ben touched. You can't believe that you're alone. Not even you."

John wasn't sure how long he sat there. The place was warm enough and the pews stiff enough that he didn't want to sleep, just sit. He began to cry again, softly. The tears were alien and painful across his swollen cheeks. If God was talking, John couldn't hear.

Eventually, he thought to move, taking the side exit so as not to disturb Vivian in her tiny office, crammed with equality paraphernalia and such. The back of the chapel led through a small, circular dirt path that had all but been forgotten. Weeds didn't grow and the earth was hard-packed in the place. There was a bench stuck unceremoniously in the midst of the dirt. John knew the feeling. The desolation, the abandonment, the potential all withering away behind a chapel.

He sat on the bench and just looked at the dirt. John sat hunched over, doubled over from all the pain and alcohol and memories. _Humans_, he thought, _we know how to punish ourselves. We know it better than any other species on this planet. Even the flowers...._

John fell down to his knees, squinting in the dirt. He began to dig with the tips of his fingers. Clods of dirt grabbed his nails. He stopped a moment to catch his breath and then continued scratching away and sweating. He gave a furtive glance when he found it. There it was, a deep red wild flower growing in impossible odds. It was the prettiest thing John had ever seen.

It is said that purpose and action give you the power to overcome. Not even John was sure he believed that, but all he knew was that the dull ache and bleeding hours began to fill with the sense of project. The place behind the chapel became his anthem and his theme. It was a reminder that his hands still moved. It was a chance to study and learn again, to feel the earth and the sky and remember. It was the reason that he finally took the call from Devon.

He heard Vivian's footsteps in the makeshift garden. "You're doing a wonderful job."

John stood, wiping the dirt on his jeans. "I'm sorry. It's not my garden, I know, but..."

Vivian raised her hand. "Please don't explain. I know Ben brought you out here."

John looked around, slightly aware that Ben's name was still a very twinge in his body, but not the chasm of pain it had been. "Do you think so?"

"It's fitting. And I've petitioned the school to name the garden after him."

John scoffed. "He did have tenure. How fast did they turn you down?"

Vivian smiled, shaking her head. "They didn't."

John gasped as she produced a bronze plate from the pocket of her robes. "Since there's a bench already here, I just thought that we might memorialize the place. It's only fitting."

John nodded. "When it's finished and things have begun to grow. Before I return to England and maybe with Michael here. I couldn't thank..."

Vivian reached in, pulling John into a hug. "I didn't do anything, John. You survived and he would love that as a testament to your friendship. Maybe even more than the garden itself."


	8. Chapter 8

Two days later and John looked in his mirror backstage. His little binge hadn't wreaked too much havoc on his skin, but John felt like he was covering more than usual with his bit of base. He wasn't sure about turning 23. It felt like a strange age in a strange time. His bags were packed and the corporate suite was clean again. This was the last time he'd be back at Babylon for awhile.

The lights from the mirror were really the only ones in the area. John was absorbed in his outfit and his makeup, bemused by what Emmett had created. He had found the deep blue trench coat at some salvage sale and tailored it. The arms were gone and other alterations had occurred. It was a costume now, the great fantasy of swagger. And it had been a gift from a good friend.

He liked the way the collar trailed from behind his hair and down his collarbone. He felt strong in the outfit, visible and yet covered. It took a certain amount of moxie and rock star charisma to pull this outfit off and Emmett had said it was perfect for John. He had earned a hug for that.

"JP!" John looked around in the shadows behind him. The name registered but he couldn't see Robbie. He wasn't sure he wanted to. But after he stepped from the shadows, John knew that he was still as sexy as ever.

"Robbie? This is certainly a surprise."

"May I pull up a stool?" John nodded as Robbie pointed and brought the stool into the light, dragging the legs and making that horrid squeaking sound.

"Why are you here, Robbie?"

John watched Robbie's reflection talk into the mirror. "I heard you were in town."

John shrugged. "I've been in town for a couple of weeks now. This is my last performance before I head back to London."

Robbie nodded. "That's pretty cool! How are you liking it there?"

John chuckled. "It's been an adventure."

Robbie sighed and John found himself staring at Robbie's body again. He knew that trusting him was just going to be a disaster. He knew he had grown beyond the mind games, but there was a part of him that never really let go of hope that he'd been wrong and Robbie had been coerced into what had happened. That part of him loved indulging in the fanatical lie.

"Do you remember the week before I left LA, Robbie?"

Robbie shrugged. "Vaguely."

John blinked. "It was one of the only serious conversation we ever had. I always thought we had been close, but apparently I had been wrong."

Robbie shook his head. "JP, what are you talking about?"

John sighed. "Why are you here? I tried to convert you, make you fall for me, and then forget you. All of a sudden you reappear in my life and we have one disastrous night followed by a long period of silence. One would think that the universe might not be our friend."

Robbie swallowed hard. "I don't believe that."

John rose, hands gripping the table for stability. "I have to. I have to move on from whatever it is we had. This toxic, twisted thing has to be over. I need, no, I deserve better."

Robbie reached out for John's arm, but John pulled away. "JP..."

John pulled his body away violently. "No, Robbie..."

_I don't need your sympathy_

_There's nothing you can say or do for me_

At some point, the stage fantasy had replaced the real world. He looked at Robbie as he sang, standing tall and proud. He thought of the way Ryan touched him and the way Devon made him laugh while they cooked dinner. He thought of Vivian working in the garden he had begun. And of Michael, who had split Priest into two characters, another of which was a flying hero known as Disco.

_And I don't want a miracle_

_You'll never change for no one_

Robbie wasn't a part of that, maybe he wanted to be. But Robbie had to find his own path there. John was too much a part of something that was greater, that was memorable and didn't have to be ashamed. He was more than a fringe of a sub culture and a nominal celebrity. He was a survivor and he was loved. He always had been, but it had taken losing everything to finally see it.

_And I hear your reason why_

_Where did you sleep last night?_

Robbie was trailing him as the song echoed through the back room. Perhaps that was the only exit and Robbie was merely trying to get away from the truth. He looked wounded, as though he had expected a different outcome altogether. But this outcome had been written for John long before. He knew it because of the fortune cookies that had conspired to talk about his fame and his good nature. That was something that could never change.

_And was he worth it_

_Was he worth it?_

His entourage of dancers were there and waiting at the stage entrance, a natural barricade between him and Bobby. There were whistles coming from the main room in Babylon and the catwalk. He could remember every inch of the place, the exact spot he had danced with Ben and the moment on his twenty-first when Ben and Michael had carried him away. He remembered that and smiled, pushing his way to the stage to begin. He didn't need the song. He knew the words.

_Cause I'm strong enough to live without you_

_Strong enough and I've quit crying long enough_

_Now I'm strong enough to know_

_You've gotta go_

All the boys were in the crowd, he could even feel Ryan and Devon there in spirit. He looked down at Michael, who was trying very hard not to cry. He was smiling at John and John could do no more than to smile back at him. They had survived somehow and yet both loved him. Both would always love him, even though John would never underestimate what Michael had lost. It was in that smile, that moment, that John knew that apologies weren't even necessary.

_Come hell or water high_

_You'll never see me cry_

_This is our last goodbye _

_It's true_

_Now I'm telling you_

It was his own remix that went straight to the bridge. John genuinely enjoyed the second verse by Cher about writing a book of pain and the ex not wanting to read it, but John knew gay men and that most of them weren't willing to indulge attention spans of that nature. He was doing a short farewell set that night and knew he wanted to start the other song right away. He signaled to the dj, extending his hand out to Michael.

_Friday night and the lights are low_

_Looking out for a place to go_

_Where they play the right music_

_Getting in the swing_

_You've come to search for a king_

Emmett followed Michael on to the stage and it reminded John of his birthday a couple of years back in some ways. It was full circle somehow, sharing this microphone with them while the lights flashed and the men howled downstage. Ben was never far from John's mind, but he began to wonder if this was a part of Ben's legacy. Ben had always been more than himself. John had forgotten that.

_Anybody could be that guy_

_The night is young and music's high_

_With a bit of rock music_

_Getting in the swing_

_You're in the mood for dance_

John had swung himself off stage right before the second verse to grab a bottle of water. He had seen Angel in the crowd. Babylon must have posted a note for all of the exes to come out of the woodwork. He took a swig of water, not bothering to look in the shadows as Angel appeared.

"John." He whispered.

"Angel," John smiled, turning to greet him. He was more human than John remembered but still tall and heroic-looking. "Well, this must be my night."

"I heard about Ben."

John cocked his head. "From who?"

"I've been keeping tabs on you." Angel nodded as though this were the most natural thing in the world.

"...Well, that's invasive."

Angel blinked. "It's just that we met under unusual circumstances and I needed to make sure..."

John sighed. "I could've used rescuing a couple of times. Did your tabs ever tell you that?"

"You look like you came out okay."

John put down the bottle of water, folding his arms. "I did. I've been run through the mill, but I survived with help."

Angel was close now, his hand caressing John's arm. "That's good. Because we've just fought a war in LA. It's safe to come back."

John shook his head, angry at an offer he would have killed for once. "That's not why I left Angel. God, you have the best timing in history. I've gotta get back out there."

"I'm sorry." Angel gasped.

John was silent for a moment, not turning as he talked. John assumed Angel would disappear again and his heart would shrivel a little bit. He'd just have to hold on until he saw Ryan. "I'm headed back to London. I have a career and someone who loves me that's waiting for me. He's not afraid to say it, not afraid to hold me. Not afraid to let me know its okay to love him back."

There was no response and John bit down on his lower lip, watching Michael dance as the remix style played in the background. Angel was still in the background, waiting, possibly deciding what to say or for permission to follow. But John was gonna let him make up his own damn mind. "Are you happy?"

John sighed. And then he stepped back onto the stage.

_You can dance, you can jive_

_Having the time of your life_

He couldn't remember when Michael had been that close. He savored the feeling and scent of Michael and Emmett because he wasn't sure when that would happen again. And for the first time in a long time, he was okay with that. And then it was time for the big finish

_Oh, Oh, Oh_

_See that girl_

Emmett, Michael, and John each had their own moves, but they worked in rhythm together. It was fun, it was freeing. There was nothing quite like spinning a good friend while on stage.

_Watch that scene_

John wasn't sure when he saw it, but he knew when he looked for a second time. Beyond the lights, on an empty portion of the catwalk. He was wearing a light blue shirt and tan pants. His shoes were clean and without scuffs. Ben's spirit waved and as the song finished, John blew a kiss back. It wasn't an end as much as a beginning.

_Dig it, the dancing queen_


End file.
